


Waltzing, European Style

by titty_mittens (ravenousravishing)



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Drabble, Gay Waltzing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenousravishing/pseuds/titty_mittens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I could never chose one of these ladies over another, Doctor. Would you assist me in my demonstration, to avoid any jealousy?"</p><p>Thomas Sharpe dances with Alan McMichael.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waltzing, European Style

**Author's Note:**

> You can thank the [totally heterosexual] look Thomas and Alan share during the waltz scene for this drabble.

Lady McMichael's affairs were, Thomas mused, quite grand in an 'American' fashion. The room's chandelier rivaled some he'd seen in London manors; it was most likely an import. Walking through the parlor doors, Thomas kept a ghost like touch on Edith, her dress smooth. Though he had chosen the best of what was left of his wardrobe, Thomas Sharpe was completely and utterly shown up by Edith Cushing.

Her dress, which Lucille had chosen and he had proposed, was a wilder fashion than that of the ladies now staring. _"If you must,"_ Lucille had whispered while adjusting his cufflinks, _"act like a fool, you will at least leave an impression."_ And so he had. Edith looked fragile, hesitant and heavenly. Lucille had smiled at the dress' dark train, with its gentle creams and pearls stark against the flowing black. _"What,"_ Thomas had asked, _"do you find so amusing?"_ Lucille had met his look with her own unwavering stare, her eyes dark as she pulled her lips upwards just slightly; a rare smile, the type only Thomas was privy to. _"You should study the art of literature,"_ she'd said softly. _"Especially now that you have an author on your arm."_ Then her smile had disappeared, the humor in her voice replaced by a soft monotone.

 The feeling of Edith's hand slipping from his woke Thomas. Only a few seconds, yet the entire room had changed. Ladies whispered behind their fans and gentlemen turned their eyes, taking pointed sips from their drinks. It was Lucille pulling Edith aside, steadily staring at him. Lucille's gaze was particular, like a trick painting. You could stand anywhere in the room, yet she still managed to stare directly at you- or into you, as it sometimes felt to Thomas. Lucille gently pulled Edith farther away from him, saying something softly to her. Edith glanced back at him as the two of them left, giving Thomas a small smile. Lucille's shoulder brushed against him as she leaned up slightly. "You're a _fool_ ," Lucille hissed.

 

* * *

"Oh everyone, everyone!" Lady McMichael said, her shrill voice interrupting conversations as she clinked a glass. She gave a bright smile as the room quieted. Alan watched his mother, taking a sip of his drink as she stepped into the middle of the floor. "Our own baronet," Lady McMichael said, Thomas Sharpe seemingly appearing at her side, "has offered to demonstrate a proper waltz; _European_ style." Alan raised an eyebrow. She said 'European' like she might 'Exotic'. "Please, please let us make room for _Lord_ Sharpe," Lady McMichael said, playfully shooing people aside. Taking a step back with his fellow gentlemen, Alan quickly glanced towards Eunice. She had a smug smile, chin held high, her eyes proud. This, Alan decided, was premeditated.

 Sharpe's face came into focus as he quietly thanked a candle from someone. Alan set his drink aside, moving forward so he could see the main floor better. Other candles had been put out, and his mother's chandelier had been dimmed. Let no one say Lady McMichael wasn't a romantic.

 Turning to the room, Sharpe started to explain the specifics of a _European_ waltz. His voice was steady, back straight as he met people's eyes, holding the candle gently. Alan watched Sharpe as he began to move across the room, towards Eunice, the man waxing poetic about the perfect waltzing partner. Though his sister had lowered her eyes modestly, a smile still tugged at her lips. Alan tried not to frown, his jaw tightening. Sharpe's voice was lower now, and he stood directly before Eunice. Alan watched Sharpe, ready for the man to offer Eunice his hand.

 Except Sharpe turned sharply away from her and towards Edith, and Alan went rigid. Eunice looked like she'd been slapped, struggling to keep her mouth from falling agape. Edith, even though Sharpe had been her escort, looked equally shocked. Baronet Thomas Sharpe lingered there, Edith staring into his eyes, the two of them drifting subtly closer. Alan tensed further. Sharpe looked like a moth fluttering around Edith as though she was a bright flame, dark eyes meeting her soft gaze.

 Yet Edith whispered something to him as she turned her eyes away. Sharpe lowered his gaze, his hand just brushing hers as he left her, whispering his own reply.

The candle still steady in his hand, his pleasant mask back on, Sharpe suddenly came to stand in front of Alan. Alan straightened his shoulders and met Sharpe's eyes. The sister Sharpe's eyes were darker than Thomas', harder than his. Thomas Sharpe's eyes always carried a certain edge to them, something unreadable. But right now he gave a gentleman's smile and inclined his head slightly to Alan. "I could never chose one of these ladies over another, Doctor. Would you assist me in my demonstration, to avoid any jealousy?" Thomas' voice was light, as he gave the room a friendly smile. Alan stayed silent as the tension in the room diffused; the slight humor had settled the ladies' ruffled feathers, but he could still see the look on Eunice and his mother's faces. Edith kept her eyes on the floor.

"Are you sure? You say a waltz is supposed to be sweet and delicate, and yet I'm an American man- do you really trust me?" Alan said. Let them use humor. A few gentlemen gave chuckles, and he could see his mother's pursed face. Alan met Thomas' smile and gave a deep bow, almost mocking. Thomas replied with his own bow, carefully offering his hand as he straightened. "That's fine, I'm sure your time abroad has cultured you some." He said. "Slightly to my left," Thomas whispered, the candle's flame steady as he gently pulled Alan to his side. " _'Six simple steps, that is all'_ " Alan said. Thomas gave a small smile, hand firm on Alan's back. Since when had they stepped that close?

"Lucille?" Thomas asked over his shoulder. Sitting at the piano in her startling dress, Lucille Sharpe simply stared at them. At Alan, specifically. Her eyes reflected nothing, light disappearing into them. Though her look made Alan go cold, he pointedly took hold of Thomas' shoulder. Something flickered in the depths of Lucille's eyes. She turned to the piano with a shuffle of red fabric, beginning to play without warning.

It was a powerful performance, notes gliding together and filling the room. Thomas adjusted their clasped hands just slightly, the candle flickering for only a moment. Standing there, holding Thomas Sharpe's hand and feeling the warmth of his grip at the small of his back, Alan realized how small the room had become. It was Thomas, Lucille's music, and himself. "You've only hurt your cause, you know," Alan whispered. "Not quite yet, Sir McMichael- and back to my left," Thomas said, gently correcting Alan's form. Lucille was still playing, the gallery tense.

Meeting eyes one last time, Thomas stepped, and Alan followed him. They kept a steady gaze, moving with the music. Alan's chest tightened as he realized they were simply gliding, gliding across the floor as the candle burned brightly. Thomas' eyes seemed lighter, half his face in shadow. Thomas was enjoying this, Alan realized. And so was he. The music swelling around them, Alan didn't simply follow Thomas- he _danced_ with him, moving in time with Thomas and never looking away. The audience was gone, the floor was theirs. They danced close, the candle never wavering, steps confident and they were _smi_ -

Thomas stepped back, still holding Alan's hand as Lucille's song ended. The room was silent for a moment as they still shared a gaze. The candle clasped between their hands held a steady flame, a small beacon. Alan nodded his head, and Thomas looked away. They gave a bow, the room's tension snapping like a bow's string. Ladies laughed and gentlemen clapped; after all, it had simply been an entertainment.  
  
Yet Dancing with Thomas Sharpe was not something Alan McMichael would soon forget.

**Author's Note:**

> I need to do more with Edith & Lucille. First time writing Alan & Thomas, and first time posting! Comments & Kudos are appreciated- tell me what you think!


End file.
